


The Corner Table Boy

by Hannah_BWTM



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Colleagues are the worst, Hallucinations, He's just trying to solve a case, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25089466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_BWTM/pseuds/Hannah_BWTM
Summary: In a world where Malcolm talked himself out of getting fired by the FBI he is called back to New York to work with the NYPD on a case that needs his skill set.The agents at the local field office aren't fans and decide to have a little fun.Inspired by the prompt by Lennie09- Malcolm still works for the FBI and has to work with the NYPD for a case, the team learn that Malcolm is not being treated well by the other agents and attempt to adopt Bright.
Comments: 47
Kudos: 95





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lennie09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lennie09/gifts).



It’s late morning in Manhattan, the sidewalk is heaving with people as Malcolm makes his way to the FBI’s New York office to meet with the Rosary Killer task force. He’s been called in from the DC office to assist with the local field team on a series of bodies that were being discovered in the New York state area. Head down and deep in his thoughts, he had bumped into more than one person during his walk downtown. He wasn’t preoccupied with the killer though; he was thinking about the agents waiting for him at the meeting. 

He’d met the group the day before, and the agents investigating the case had been less than welcoming. Malcolm knew that his reputation in the FBI was a difficult one, that’s why his bosses usually assigned him cases to work on by himself or required a lot of office work, the less people interaction the better. Forever the corner table boy, needed but not wanted. 

Thankfully nobody knew what his real name was. He can’t imagine how much worse it would be if they found out that his dad killed people. 

He hadn’t started their collaboration on the right foot. When he’d first arrived, he had brought with him a coffee tray to share with everyone as a welcoming gift. It usually bought him a little grace when he travelled around the country before his work style worked against him. The group had told him they all drank tea, so the coffee went to waste. The three men and two women were telegraphing tells that showed their displeasure with being forced to work with him, their briefing curt and full of snide remarks directed at him. Normally they would roll off his charcoal black suit like water would to a duck, but being back home had him off balance. 

He had tried to focus on the case, six bodies that were strangled in small coastal towns down the New York state coast. All had been found near the water, and all had been found with the same rosary tied around their neck. The latest body had been found in a heavy populated area in Manhattan dumped on the banks of the Hudson, and the FBI had been asked by the NYPD to assist in the case and coordinate with the other local police departments. 

One thing that was calming his jumpy nerves was the NYPD coordinator on the case. His old friend Gil Arroyo, the man who saved him twenty years ago, had been selected for the job. It was the first time he would be able to show Gil all the skills he’d learned in the FBI, and he was determined to find this killer swiftly. Between the increased likelihood that they’d find a glimpse of their killer on CCTV by the sheer volume of cameras in the city and his review of the facts as they stood, Malcolm was certain they would have their man in a matter of days. 

Arriving at the Jacob K Jarvits building in Lower Manhattan Malcolm wanders in and swipes his way into the office area. He’s got about an hour before Gil is due to arrive, and he’s asked for the local team to brief him one more time on the timeline for the first five victims, before Gil comes to debrief them about the sixth. He walks down the corridor to the conference room, doors on both sides leading to interrogation rooms closest to the entry, agent’s offices towards the back. They lucked out with the wall panels, white plaster made the corridor lighter than the darkened chestnut paneling of his own DC station.

He stops at the entrance of the conference room to see the team of five waiting for him, their bodies relaxed and discussion jovial. Watching for a second to learn more about them, lead agent Perez and his second in charge Miller are facing the case board but talking about sports. Seated at the table is Agent Cooper, the most junior agent of the group but still 5 years older than him. She’s got a file open but is following the conversation with Perez intently. Agents Spring and Tully who are standing on the side of the table closest to the door are laughing at a joke, something that Malcolm always struggles with. Punchlines are hard. 

“Ah, here comes the boy genius to save our asses.” Agent Spring notices him hovering at the doorway and his expression changes instantly to one of derision. 

“Now, now Spring, he doesn’t want to be here any more than we want him, isn’t that right?” asks Tully, her chin jutting out, daring Malcolm to contradict her. 

Malcolm takes a deep breath and plunges in head first. “Good morning, everyone. I’d really like to get a chance to go over the details one more time before Lieutenant Arroyo gets here today. Can someone pass me the photos from our Hudson vic?”

“Whoa, whoa, you only just got here and we got plenty ‘a time genius. What’s wrong, you nervous talkin’ to the NYPD?” sneers Cooper. 

This isn’t how he imagined the morning starting. 

“Not at all, I just want to make sure that I have the facts straight in my head. Have we had any updates on vics one through five overnight? Did we hear back from the local coroner’s office?” 

“Man, this kid _lives_ for dead bodies.” Miller says with a smirk.

“Nnnnno, I just want to find the person that killed them. Don’t we all?” Malcolm can’t get a read on where this conversation is going. 

“Sure, kid. Sure.” replies Miller. 

“It’s Agent Bright, if you wouldn’t mind Agent Miller.” Says Malcolm through gritted teeth. While his looks may have people guess his age on the wrong side of thirty, he still had enough years under his belt to not be called ‘kid’. Only one person in the world can call him that, and he’s not here yet. 

“Okay guys, that’s enough.” commands Perez. “The kid is here to help, and we all want the same thing.”

Hearing the jab but deciding to let it slide Malcolm walks around the table to the murder board and casts his eyes over the first five victims. None were locals to the area which they were killed in, which pointed to a nomadic killer possibly riding the trains and buses to find their victims. All had been wearing a red item of clothing at the time of their deaths, indicating a ritualistic method of selecting their victims. 

“Where are we at with surveillance of the train stations and bus stations in the area Agent Perez?”

“Oh kid, I almost forgot. We felt bad about not being able to accept your coffee gift yesterday on account of our preferences, so we thought we’d make it up to you today. Cooper ran out and got us all a round from Tea-Totaler, our favourite local tea dispensary. Would you like a cup?” Perez reaches into the centre of the table and pulls out a disposable cup with two giant T’s embossed on the side, a scribble of “BRIGHT” written above it. 

“Uh, sure. Thanks!” Malcolm wonders if maybe they had just been messing around when he walked in, he’s always been pretty bad at reading signals like that. He takes the cup, opens the lid and breathes in the aromas of the earl grey tea that had been brewed just for him. The bergamot and jasmine lifts his spirits, and he’s starting to think that these agents might help him shine when Gil arrives. 

He sips the tea and feels the warmth spread down into his stomach. A small ball of dread he had been holding on to all morning finally unknots itself and he can feel his shoulders drop as the tension leaves them. “Okay, where were we?” 

The team starts reciting particulars from the case in rapid succession, and Malcolm sits back in his chair, drinking it all in. About ten minutes after they’ve started Malcolm starts to notice a tingling in his fingers. Taking multiple medications for decades had been known to produce some weird side effects, but this was never one of them. He gives them a quick wiggle and a shake to try and encourage the feeling back into them. 

“Something wrong, kid?” Agent Cooper asks from his left. 

“No, nothing at all. Must have just sat on my hand a bit funny. Let’s keep going.” Malcolm notes that they are still calling him kid, but doesn’t want to jeopardise his new found good will from the tea offering so soon. He needs them to be on-side when Gil is here. 

The conversation continues for another few minutes but now Bright is having trouble concentrating on who’s speaking. His pulse is racing and he’s pretty sure his adrenaline is spiking. When he looks up to the walls the images of the victims start to leap off the page and warp into macabre Edvard Munch type paintings. Deciding that the floor can’t look as bad as them he puts his head down and gulps down a few deep breaths. 

“Agent Bright, you don’t look so good. Are you okay?” The words Miller is saying sound concerned, but the tone they are delivered in sets warning bells off in Malcolm’s head. He chances a look around the table and finds five heads tilted towards him, none showing signs of worry. Expressions of hidden laughter look back at him instead. 

They know something is wrong. And they know why. 

“I think you might need somewhere to lie down, collect yourself for a bit.” Perez suggests. “Maybe we’ll take you down to one of the interview rooms so you can have some privacy.” 

“No, it’s fine, I can just lie down on the floor over there. I’m sure I’ll feel better if I lie down.” Malcolm goes to stand but can’t find his feet, and he crashes back down into the chair. 

_“Well, my boy. This wasn’t how you imagined your first day working with the great Gil Arroyo going, did you?”_ Malcolm looks up and sees his father in his white jumpsuit, hair askew and mouth set to a grin. 

“No. You can’t be here. You _aren’t_ here.” Malcolm whispers. 

“Who’re you talkin’ to there?” Spring asks. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” Malcolm shakes his head slightly, trying to clear the image of his father standing in the corner of the room. 

_“Oh I hardly think I’m nothing. I’m the reason you met your precious Gil, the reason you want to impress him so badly.”_ drawls his imaginary father. 

“Uh, I’m thinkin’ we get him to that interview room sooner rather than later, boss.” Tully stands up and puts a hand under Malcolm’s elbow, gently lifting him up until he’s swaying on his own two feet. “Let’s get you out of harm’s way, okay?” 

“Wait, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Wait.” Malcolm breathes as he’s led back down the corridor to one of the interrogation rooms. It’s a small room about three by two metres in size with a desk in the middle. The chairs have been removed, which is strange. 

“Please, just let me lay down in the conference room, I don’t need to be in here. Gil will want to see me.” Malcolm begs. 

Perez helps Tully ease Malcolm down to the floor at the end of the room. Once he stands back up again, he answers “No, I think you’d better rest in here, Agent _Whitly._ ” 

Malcolm’s breathing picks up as he registers what Perez just called him. “What did you call me?” 

Perez grins. “That’s right, Whitly. Cooper did a little digging on you when we found out they’d decided to bring in some suit from DC to help with a local case. A little background check here, a little record pulling there and voila! Malcolm Whitly, son of the Surgeon thinks himself a good guy if he just changes his name. You and I both know that can’t ever be true.” 

Closing his eyes as the room starts to spin Malcolm repeats a mantra he’s said to himself many a time over the years. “I’m not my father, I’m good at my job….” 

“You shouldn’t even be able to work in the Bureau, I can’t believe they let you based on who your dad is. And who knows how screwed up _you_ are>” says Tully

“ _Well, they kind of have a point there._ ” chimes in Martin. 

“Go away. Please.” His voice is no louder than a whisper. 

Perez assumes Malcolm is talking to him and snickers. “Only too happy to oblige. We’ll see you in a little while, Agent Whitly. I’m sure we’ll do just fine without you.” Perez closes the door and Malcolm is left alone. Crawling back to the door Malcolm slowly raises himself up to the doorknob and finds it locked. He slumps back to the floor and lays his head on the ground, willing the room to stop spinning. 

_“It’s just you and me, my boy. And you’ll never escape me.”_ taunts Martin. 

His dad might be right for once.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papa Gil is on his way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to ProcrastinatingSab for helping me work through some plot issues on this chapter.

Gil was early. 

The debrief he was scheduled to take with the FBI task force wasn’t going to start for fifteen minutes, but he couldn’t resist calling in a little early and surprising his favourite FBI profiler. JT and Dani would be arriving for the briefing in a minute, but Gil was hoping to see Bright before they got started. 

It wasn’t every day that he had the opportunity to surprise Malcolm at work, and to see him in action. While they kept in touch with the odd phone call, it wasn’t enough to squash the tiny seed of worry he had carried for Malcolm since their fates had intertwined twenty years ago. People misunderstood him all the time, but he was a special kid, one that Gil loved to see whenever he could. Malcolm had been enthusiastically pumped when they had spoken the day before, and while he predicted that the kid would be a ball of pure nervous energy today he had no doubt that Malcolm would make him proud. 

The elevator doors opened and Gil cast his eye out over the occupants for Bright, but find himself disappointed when a man in his forties walks over and introduces himself. 

“Lieutenant Arroyo, I’m lead Agent Perez with the task force, thanks for coming in today.” 

Gil hides his disappointment with a smile. “Thank you, Agent Perez, I know I’m a bit early but I was hoping to have a quick catch up with Bright before we got underway.” 

“Oh, Agent Bright has run out to chase a lead for us, he won’t be joining the meeting.” Perez replies. He raises his arm towards Gil’s back and pushes him towards the banks of elevators. 

Gil’s brow furrows. “That’s funny, he sounded so excited for us to catch up when I spoke to him yesterday.” 

The cadence in Perez’s voice lifts by a few notes. “You know Agent Bright?” 

Gil lets out a slight chuckle “For most of his life, yeah. He’s a good kid.” Gil loses himself in thought for a moment as the elevator makes its way up the building. 

Perez breaks the silence as the doors open into a hallway. “Well, I am sorry he won’t be joining us today. Are we expecting anyone else from your team?” 

“Uh, sure, they should be here any minute.” Gil follows Perez to the conference room and places his satchel on the desk, pulling out seven folders of the latest case Major Crimes was investigating. Ten minutes later JT and Dani are welcomed into the room and the briefing begins in earnest, with no word from Bright. Gil stands up and commands the attention of the room, ready to catch a killer. 

“So, let me introduce to you the Rosary Killer’s latest victim, thirty nine year old Karen Walker…..” 

The task force agents listen intently to Gil, he walks them through the latest details of their murder that JT, Dani and Edrisa had managed to pull together the day before. They’re at it for an hour before Agent Perez suggests a quick five-minute break. Gil pulls out his cell and sends a quick text to Malcolm

**Hey kid, sorry I missed you at the office today. You free this afternoon?**

He leaves his phone in his hand, Bright may ignore his mother to the point of breaking her sanity but he had always replied to Gil within minutes. Chatting in the break to ask the agents about Bright, Gil is curious to find out what his co-workers think of him. He doesn’t get much out of them. 

“Oh, you know, he’s a bit weird. But fine, I guess.” was Agent Cooper’s response. 

“We only started working with him yesterday, I can’t tell you much.” Agent Tully had answered. 

“He’s working hard on the case, but I don’t know the guy, ya know?” was all Agent Spring would say. 

This wasn’t quite what Gil had been expecting. The break is over and Gil still doesn’t have a text back from Malcolm, so he takes the unusual step of leaving his phone out on the desk, ready to pounce the second the screen lights up in a reply. 

They’re at it for another half hour with no reply from Malcolm before the briefing is interrupted by a thumping from down the hall. 

“What is that?” Gil asks. 

“It must be an interview that’s not going very well. Shall we get back to things?” Perez walks around to the conference room door to close it, but before he can the thumping returns, louder and more insistent. 

Gil sticks his head out the door to investigate further and finds nobody walking towards the source of the noise. The thumping stops briefly before a muffled, gut-wrenching yell permeates through the closed door. Gil’s blood turns to ice as he realises he recognises the voice underneath the scream. 

It’s Malcolm’s voice. 

The banging gets more frantic and Gil calls out to the office for help. 

“Hey! Bright’s in here and he’s not okay!” Gil tries to open the door knob but finds it locked. He bangs on the door to get Bright’s attention by shouting his name but the screams and thuds keep coming, it’s clear Bright can’t hear him. 

“Perez, I need some help!” Gil tries again, and this time Perez saunters down the corridor with keys in hand. 

“What is it, Lieutenant Arroyo?” 

“Bright is locked in this room and something is clearly not right. I need you to open this door now.” Gil demands. 

“Oh yeah, I forgot that he’d already come back from chasing that lead but he was a bit upset, so I thought a bit of alone time would calm him down. I didn’t think you’d leave him alone if you knew he was here.” 

“And you thought a locked room was the best way to do that?” Gil is incredulous. He wouldn’t have expected this behaviour at the FBI, and Perez’s excuse stinks to high heaven. 

Perez remains unrepentant ‘It was all we had at the time. Here’s your kid.” There’s a jingle of keys and the door magically opens to the huddled figure of Bright, on the floor, hugging his knees. Tears are streaming down his face as he rocks gently repeating the same phrase-

“I’m not my father, I’m not my father, I’m not my father……” 

Gil crouches down to his level and meets Malcolm’s gaze, there’s no reaction from the agent on the floor. 

Gil speaks softly while placing a hand on his arm. “Kid, it’s me.” 

Malcolm flinches from the touch and tries to scramble away from Gil, only stopping when he hits a wall. Manic blue eyes race around the room, unfocused. 

“I’m not a kid, I told you it’s Agent Bright. What did you give me?!” shouts Malcolm.

Gil looks up at Perez who seems entirely unconcerned. By this point JT and Dani are standing behind the lead agent, wondering what was taking their boss so long to return. 

“What is Bright talking about? Did you give him something?” Gil asks. 

Perez is dismissive “He’s out of his mind, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

Gil stands up and meets the agent eye to eye. “You may not know who this man is, but I do. He is most certainly not out of his mind. You’ve done something to him. WHAT.” 

Sneering at the fierce protection Gil is displaying Perez turns to leave the room only to find his way blocked by JT and Dani. 

Arms crossed; JT appears immovable. “You heard the man ask you a question, and he needs an answer. Did you do something to Agent Bright?”

Perez relents with a theatrical sigh. “You mean Agent Whitly? Oh yeah, we just added a little something extra to his tea. He’ll come down eventually.”

Gil’s eyes narrow at the change in Bright’s name. “What did you just call him?” 

“You heard me, I said Agent Whitly had a little sugar added to his tea. It’s perfectly harmless, just a little fun.” Perez smirks. 

JT murmurs to Dani “Wait, does he mean the Surgeon Whitly?!” 

Malcolm starts hyperventilating behind him and Gil can barely contain his fury. “Who his father is has nothing to do with him! He hasn’t seen him in over ten years! What gives you the right to do this to him? He-gah!” Gil can’t finish the sentence about Bright’s delicate balance of medications and any potential side effects from whatever they drugged him with, he doesn’t want to give this guy any more ammunition to torment him after this. 

“No, you’re not here, please leave me alone!” cries Malcolm, swiping at ghosts nobody can see. 

Gil crouches down to Malcolm’s level again, taking care to avoid his swatting arms and leans in to place a hand at the back of his neck, squeezing slightly as he tries to get through to the kid one more time. 

“Bright, Malcolm, it’s Gil. I’m here. Your dad can’t hurt you, I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe.”

A glimmer of recognition seems to penetrate the panic in Malcolm’s ice blue eyes, and his eyes settle on Gil for the first time since he had entered the room. 

“Gil?” The solitary word tumbles out of his mouth and Malcolm throws himself at Gil like the last life preserver on a sinking ship. The two men stay that way for a minute, Gil murmuring into Malcolm’s ear the whole time until his hummingbird breathing slows to more natural levels. When Gil feels the boy’s muscles start to relax he looks back towards the audience assembled in the doorway and issues an order:

“I need the room with Agent Bright for a minute. Leave the door open thanks.” 

Gil waits for the group to leave, giving JT a nod in affirmation before he breaks apart from Bright and checks on him. 

“Hey kid, you gave me a bit of a scare there. You alright?” 

“I don’t know, Gil. They drugged me with something, and all I could see and hear was my father. I’m not him, but those agents out there don’t seem to care.” Malcolm looks haunted, and Gil wonders what his imaginary father was saying to him to get him so upset. 

Gil places his hand on Malcolm’s neck again and locks eyes with him. “I know, kid. You’re a brilliant profiler for the FBI, you’re nothing like him. I’m so proud of you, you know that, right?” 

Malcolm manages a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, a haunted echo trapped inside them instead. It hurts his heart to see. 

Gil moves his hands down under Malcolm's elbows, preparing to help him stand. "Can you get up? We need to have a word with Perez. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this description of a trip accurate? Probably not, but it was fun to write.

The door closed in on Malcolm leaving him in a white void. Images of the victims that had jumped off the whiteboard earlier floated in the air, bloodshot eyes bulging in a macabre joke and purple bruising blossoming under the rosaries tied tightly around their throats. The colours his mind provides are vibrant and fluid, with occasional lens flares shooting slowly across his vision.

Dr Whitly floats to the side like a twisted angel on his shoulder, neither reassuring nor helpful.

“ _Have you figured this out, yet? C’mon boy, this killer’s motive is so obvious.”_

_“If you’d gone along with my teachings you wouldn’t have put yourself in this situation.”_

_“Why would you choose to strangle someone anyway? There’s no art in the form.”_

He’s not sure how long he sits there with his head down and eyes shut, willing the tableau in front of him to disappear. His heart is hammering in his chest and time seems to slow to a crawl. It feels like an eternity. The taunts of “ _my boy_ ” finally fade and Malcolm manages to gulp down a few deep breaths, willing his heart rate to slow down. The reprieve is short lived when the floor drops from underneath him giving him the sensation of plunging in an out of control elevator. Malcolm scrambles to grab onto the table leg, afraid to let go and be dragged into the void expanding under his feet. He stays frozen again, his small whimpers unheard against the roaring of the darkness surrounding him.

After a while his muscles start to ache, exhausted from holding on tightly to the table leg that’s bolted into the floor. His arms tremble from the exertion but he refuses to let go. A small part of his brain knows this isn’t real, but the fear response is overwhelming his ability to rationalise the signals his mind is firing off right now.

A time comes when the void slowly closes and the howling stops, and when he opens his eyes he is alone in the interview room, his father nowhere to be found. The victims have also left the room, but there’s something new that wasn’t there before.

A box.

Not just any box. _The_ box. The box that started the nightmare with his father, the one that haunts his dreams. It’s nestled against the wall, and while he figures out what to do there’s a thud from inside the box. It jumps slightly from the movement, startling Malcolm to the opposite wall.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

The gap between the noises gets smaller, making it impossible for Malcolm to tune it out. Crawling forward slowly, he sides up to the box, jumping as it skids on the floor one last time. He takes a deep breath and opens the lid, looking for the source of the noise. Expecting a corpse in a red sweater and a rosary necklace, Malcolm is confused when it’s a woman only wearing mismatched underwear. Behind him a voice makes him jump

“ _My boy, you’ve found her again! She really was a treasure.”_

“What do you mean?” Malcolm knows his father isn’t here, but he can’t help but ask. He doesn’t understand what this is supposed to be.

“ _Well, I’m just saying that I had so much fun with her the first time, and I really have you to thank for that. You did force me to kill her after all.”_

“She wasn’t real, she’s-“

Malcolm doesn’t finish as he looks down to an empty box. Where did she go?

“What the, where?” Malcolm looks around and is confronted by a decaying naked corpse with wet stringy hair behind him.

“ _You didn’t find me, you’re as bad as your father.”_ The girl taunts.

“No, that’s not true! I’m not like him! I save people!” Malcolm whispers. He’s never had this vision before.

“ _You didn’t save me. You can’t escape us.”_ she replies.

_“No, you certainly can’t, my boy.”_ Dr Whitly is right, and when the girl puts a decaying hand on his arm Malcolm can’t take it anymore. He wants out. He throws his arms out from his body and screams with all the air in his lungs, lunging for the door and bashing on it with his fist.

_“You deserve to stay with me, forever.”_ the girl whispers, grabbing his arms as he hits the stationary wood over and over again. Someone must be able to hear him.

_“Son, I really think you should give up, this is quite pathetic after all.”_ Father is as helpful as ever.

“Never.” Malcolm spits, then he resumes his punching of the door.

At last there’s movement of the doorknob and Malcolm falls to the floor, away from the path of the opening door. The girl and his father stand over him, blocking his view of who has entered. The taunts don’t stop from either of them. To drown them out he repeats his mantra back to himself

“I’m not my father, I’m not my father, I’m not my father……”

There’s too much noise and he can’t hear a thing, until a word catches in his mind. “Kid.” The last person to call him that was Perez, and he has the nerve to come back in and mock him again?

“I’m not a kid, I told you it’s Agent Bright. What did you give me?!”

Malcolm strains to hear the answer but the taunting from his father and the girl only get louder, their bodies crouching down and reaching out to drag him down.

“ _You’re with us, now Malcolm_.” the girl teases. He doesn’t want to be though.

“No, you’re not here, please leave me alone!”

He pushes away with his arms at the ghosts haunting him, but his arms pass through them like they mist in a waterfall. Panic is starting to set in again when suddenly a hand reaches through the mist-like figures and wraps around the back of his neck. It feels like something Gil would do, and the thought is instantly calming. Next comes a voice that feels like safety, feels like home.

“Bright, Malcolm, it’s Gil. I’m here. Your dad can’t hurt you, I’ve got you, okay? You’re safe.”

“Gil?” Malcolm jumped into the safety of his arms and never wanted to let go. He felt like he was ten years old again. There’s more chatter before the two of them are left alone in the room. Gil makes sure Malcolm is okay, then his face turns serious.

“We need to talk about what just happened in here. You can’t work with these guys, no way.” Gil’s tone matches his expression of concern.

Malcolm’s face burns with embarrassment.

“I haven’t got a choice Gil, the murders are happening here and this is who is on the task force. I can’t exactly ask for another team.”

Gil shakes his head. “Yes, you can. You can work with my team. They _drugged_ you Bright, and they thought it was one huge joke. Who’s to say they won’t do it again?”

Malcolm shrugs. “It’s okay Gil, I’ll just make sure I only drink coffee that I buy from now on.”

“It is NOT okay! You shouldn’t have to work with people who’ve judged you based on nothing. Your bosses need to know what they’re doing, I’ll talk to them.”

“No! No, please don’t. I’m not exactly the most popular person in the bureau, this will only make it worse.” Malcolm begs.

Gil thinks on it for a minute before countering.

“Alright, I won’t talk to your bosses. But I won’t talk to those lowlifes down the hall either. I’m going to request a special assignment for you so you can work with my team to find this killer. You’ve read all the case files, I assume?”

Malcolm nods. “Sure. I’ve got all the critical points of the profile locked away.”

“Great, I’ll make a call.” Gil shifts to the balls of his feet, ready to help Malcolm up off the floor. He grunts as they stand up together, and Malcolm sways slightly before finding his feet. Once he’s got his bearings Malcolm looks up slowly at Gil, concern plastered all over his face.

“Do you think your team will be okay working with me? You know I tend to rub people the wrong way.”

“Kid, even if they aren’t hot for the idea they’ll keep it in line for me.” Gil answers. “C’mon, lets get you some water and something to eat. You good to keep going, or do you want to head home first?”

As much as he would love to accompany Gil to work right now his legs feel like jelly underneath him. He’s not sure if he could focus on the case as he needs to, and knows for sure he won’t be able to handle the stares from the people that did this to him.

“I think I’d like to go home, Gil. Just for a bit.” Malcolm’s voice is so soft Gil almost bends down to hear it.

“Okay, home it is. Let’s grab your stuff and get outta here.” Gil steers Malcolm to the conference room and leaves him resting on the door frame while he gathers up Malcolm’s files and jacket as well as his satchel.

“Agent Perez, this is the _most_ disgraceful behaviour I’ve ever seen from a law enforcement officer. I can’t imagine how anyone can trust you with a job of such importance.”

Perez looks over at Malcolm and sneers again, not at all bothered by Malcolm’s diminutive frame and vacant expression. “Yeah, well it’s my task force and what I say, goes. Whitly’s not gonna say anything, is he?”

Malcolm’s downcast look at the floor is all the confirmation Perez needs.

Gil feels a surge of protectiveness and puffs out his chest. “I am hereby rescinding the cooperation of the NYPD with this task force. Bright will work on the Karen Walker murder with us as an FBI envoy, you can try solving the other murders on your own.”

“Ah, I don’t think it works like that Lieutenant. You can choose not to work with Whitly, but I don’t think you can refuse to work with us when lives are on the line.”

Gil’s expression steels. “Watch me.” He looks over at JT and Dani and jerks his head towards the door, and the four of them leave the FBI offices without so much as a backward glance.

“So, can we really piss of the FBI on a case like this, boss?” JT murmur quietly as they wait for the lift.

“I don’t know, but I’ll fight tooth and nail to make sure Bright doesn’t have to set foot in a room with those jackasses again.” Gil replies with bitterness.

Malcolm listens to the conversation, not really hearing it. He hadn’t felt this exposed since the days of boarding school. The jibes, the teasing, the humiliation of not being welcome. He thought he’d been at the FBI long enough to have this kind of thing stop, facing the reality that it wasn’t true shattered a part of him he thought had healed long ago.

He was forever the corner table boy.

The elevator finally opens to their floor and the quartet squeeze in, ready to put this short-lived collaboration behind them. As the doors close Malcolm stares down the hallway one more time to find his father waving him goodbye.

_“Be seeing you, boy.”_

***************************

Malcolm towels off after using all the hot water in the tank and wipes away the condensation in the wall mirror. Considering he’d had the trip from hell that morning his face doesn’t seem to be baring too many scars from the experience, though the pounding in his head is causing him no end of grief.

He pads out to his drawers and picks a comfortable pair of pants and a loose t-shirt, though he’d just woken up from a five hour sleep he doubted he’d be heading out of the house tonight. Comfort was the order of the day.

As he falls into his rather uncomfortable couch there’s a vibrating from the kitchen island, he’s got a message. Deciding that it’s better to get up before he can make himself comfortable, he pads over to the bench to read the message. Gil’s missive brings a smile to his face.

**9am, 16 th Precinct. Don’t bring coffee, we’ve got plenty.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What, you didn't think I would finish the story without Malcolm playing with the team, did you? :o)

After a solid five hours sleep Malcolm startles awake at three in the morning from a night terror, ending his rest time for the night. Fragments of the trip he’d taken the day before lingered in the streetlight from his half moon window, and for the hundredth time he makes a note to order a blind for the wall.

He lays in bed for an hour trying to get back to sleep. His efforts are futile, and he decides to make himself useful and re-read the files on the so-called Rosary Killer before his meet up with Gil in a few hours.

Thinking of Gil sends a quiver of anxiety through him, he knows Gil’s team saw him out of his mind at the FBI offices and wonders if that will affect how they behave towards him. He already struggled to stay on people’s good side when they didn’t know anything about him, and Detectives Tarmel and Powell knew more than most. How much had they told their colleagues at the precinct?

The buzzing of his phone cut off any more pontificating, and Malcolm double checks the time before he answer’s Gil’s call. Something big must have happened in the case.

“Gil, what brings you to the phone at 5am?” Malcolm asks.

“Why am I not surprised you’re up already? We’ve got another body strangled with a rosary……..and something else. I need you to meet me down at Pier 40 as soon as you can, if you’re up to it.”

“Sure thing, Gil. I’m on my way.” Malcolm ends the call and suits up, ready for a day of profiling.

Cabs aren’t hard to come by in the five o’clock hour and Malcolm arrives promptly at the pier, using the flashing red and blue lights bouncing off buildings to help him find the crime scene. He spots Gil first, and notices Tarmel and Powell off to the side questioning witnesses. He jumps at the opportunity to speak to Gil alone, eager to prove himself to a man he has admired for years.

“Morning, Gil. What have we got?”

“Morning.” Gil points to a bloated body lying on the deck boards. “Jackson Dennings, 42, visiting from Pennsylvania. Restaurant workers saw his body floating against the pier and called it in.” There’s no mention of the events from the day prior, much to Malcolm’s relief. Malcolm takes a moment to look at the latest victim, an African American man with a bright red Kathmandu parka covering his chest. The parka’s collar obscures the rosary somewhat, but it’s there, like a beaded anchor holding the man’s soul even in death.

“Do we have a time of death?”

“Nothing concrete yet. Our ME is grabbing her kit now, but there’s one obvious difference to Karen Walker’s body.”

Malcolm’s curiosity is piqued. “Something different? What is it?”

Tarmel comes up from behind to answer the question. “The guy has something jammed in his mouth. Morning Agent Bright.” He gets a curt nod, but nothing further.

“Aaaand that’s my cue, is it not?!” A cheery ME rolls up with her gurney and bag of tricks. Her eyes sparkle from behind thick rimmed glasses, and Malcolm can’t help but return a smile.

Gil raises a hand in introduction “This is Medical Examiner Edrisa Tanaka, Edrisa this is Malcolm Bright, an agent with the FBI helping on this case. You’re going to get along great.”

Edrisa’s face lights up and she starts talking a mile a minute. “Oh, Agent Bright! Such a pleasure! Will you be staying in town long? What foods do you like to eat? Where are-“

Gil cuts her off. “Edrisa, we’re not here to play twenty questions with the agent, we need to find out about our victim. What is in his mouth?”

Suitably admonished Edrisa turns her attention back to the body on the ground. “Okay, give me a few minutes to photograph the body, then we can take a look at this object.”

The detectives leave Edrisa to her work, and Malcolm decides silence is the best plan to avoid any awkward encounters. Best not to get anyone offside before six in the morning. He wanders up and down the boardwalk until the ME waves them back over.

“Okay, here we go.” Edrisa works the stiff jaw open to reveal a cream disc about an inch and a half in diameter.

Another part of the profile clicks into place for Malcolm. “Interesting.”

The team look surprised at the interruption. “You know what this is?” Powell asks.

Malcolm shrugs. “I don’t know exactly what the item is, but I know what it represents.”

The group waits for Malcolm to explain, not realising that Malcolm was finished talking.

“You gonna share with the class, or….” JT starts.

“Oh! Right. Sorry. Forgot you were here. It’s a representation of the Eucharist.” 

Gil picks up the train of thought. “So, the rosaries and the disc are linked?”

“Absolutely. There are several factors that lead me to believe this is a visionary killer with a background strongly rooted in the Catholic faith.” Malcolm explains. There’s a pregnant pause again and Malcolm looks around with wide eyes waiting for a response. The glares from Tarmel and Powell are heading toward cop expressions he’s more familiar with at crime scenes. He’s messing this up.

“Kid, we need a bit more than that.” Gil prompts.

“Oh, ah, so the killer chooses his victims by the colour clothing that they were, a bright red. All previous victims fit the items of clothing they were found in, so it’s not something the killer brought with them to the murder. Red in the Catholic faith symbolizes martyrdom, the killer believes that the victim’s choice to wear this colour is confirmation that they are willing to die for his mission.”

Malcolm takes a breath to see how the group has taken this information. The faces that stare back at him are now thoughtful.

Powell chimes in “The rosary is a symbol of devotion in the faith, do you think that’s why the killer used them to strangle his victims?”

Malcolm beams. “Yes! It all leads back to his belief that he is doing God’s work.” They really seem to be listening, it’s such a novelty.

Gil claps his hands. “All right, I think we’ve picked up everything we can here, you wanna take a ride with us back to the precinct?” 

“You’re happy for me to come back?” Malcolm asks.

“We haven’t caught the guy yet, have we?” Gil nudges Malcolm slightly, it’s affectionate more than disparaging.

“Okay, sure.”

JT calls out as they walk towards Gil’s Le Mans. “Just don’t be getting anything to drink on the way, okay?” JT jokes. Malcolm looks back to the detective, expecting to find contempt but only finding gentle humour. Not what he expected at all.

************************

“So, what are we missing Agent Bright?” Powell is perched on top of a low cabinet, arms folded in front of her and waiting patiently for a reply.

Malcolm’s eyes bulge quickly at being asked for help before he clears his throat and continues.

“As we noted in our FBI profile the killer is likely using the transit system to travel as well as identify potential victims. It makes trying to uncover the identity of the killer much harder.”

JT chimes in “Plus the guy’s just killed again in a matter of days, we gotta find this guy before he hurts someone else.”

Malcolm nods “Jeffrey is right, we-“

“It’s JT.”

“Oh, sorry.” Malcolm grimaces, but it doesn’t look like JT is put off by the mistake. “JT is right, we may have to look at this from the perspective of catching him when he’s searching for victims. Now we have two victims closer together we can use that to narrow down the search radius.”

“And how do we do that, Bright? You’re still looking at a huge area of Manhattan to cover.” Detective Powell sounds frustrated.

“We do that by visiting the Catholic churches in the area. A killer with this level of knowledge of the Catholic faith is likely to be one of the small percentage that still partakes in confession.” Malcolm answers.

“We what now?” Gil sounds surprised. “Are you asking us to force priests to betray their oath and out a murderer?”

“No Gil, I’m suggesting we go and talk to them, ask the question and what their stress reactions are when they answer. I’ll be able to tell if one of them has heard something they are required to keep secret.”

JT looks skeptical “You’re asking us to trust you to find a lead based on what, how many times the guy blinks?”

Malcolm rolls his eyes “Not just when he blinks, it’s also where his eyes move when he’s speaking, but yes, that’s what I’m asking you to do.”

There’s a moment of silence when the team considers their options. Malcolm waits for the inevitable rejection that is no doubt on the tip of the detective’s tongues. This is usually the point in an investigation where he’s told thanks-but-no-thanks by the local PD and the fighting starts.

JT breaks the silence first with a shrug. “Alright, it’s not like we’ve got anything else to check out anyway.”

Malcolm looks at JT with surprise. JT doesn’t like that expression.

“What, did you just spin us a tale or something? Was all that just a show?”

“No, No! It’s just that people don’t usually listen when I make suggestions.” Malcolm’s voice is soft by the time he’s talking.

“Okay then, I’ll start writing up a list of churches for us to visit.” Powell hops down from the cabinet and walks over to a desk in the bullpen.

Malcolm can’t remember the last time a conversation with cops had gone so well, and he almost sags in relief.

The drugs really did a number on him yesterday. He doesn’t normally care this much about whether he’s liked or not, and it’s a bit disorienting. It could be the drugs, it could also be the fact that he doesn’t want to let Gil down. Malcolm feels like he’s in a tiny boat in an ocean of feelings, and he’s tossed from one side of the deck to the other. The only thing that calms the ocean is solving the case, and he’s got work to do.

************************

“So can someone remind me why I’m the one out here looking like Elmo?” Dani grumbles and she aimlessly wanders through a convenience store.

Bright chuckles lightly into his comm “We figured you would be our best shot at reeling in the killer.”

JT groans next to him “Reeling in? Where are you from, the 80’s?”

Malcolm’s laugh is open now “Mother didn’t approve of computers and we only had one TV. I’ve been scarred ever since.”

“I don’t know if you’re stakeout material, man.” JT shakes his head.

Malcolm pushes on regardless “If you need fashion tips I have an extensive knowledge of shoulder pads if anyone is interested.”

Guffaws and groans fill his ear.

Malcolm had never felt more comfortable with a team on any case in his life.

Malcolm turns serious for a moment. “Okay, so remember we’re looking for a solidly built Caucasian man above six foot in height. He won’t be rushing anywhere, he’ll be scanning the crowd slowly to pick out a target.”

“And how do I get this guys attention?” Powell asks.

JT answers her “Just wander around looking lost. That shouldn’t be too much of a stretch for you.”

“Bite me.”

Gil turns the conversation around. “Alright kids, let’s keep the channel open for sightings of our killer, or Big Bird, whoever shows up first.”

The line goes quiet while JT shudders through a silent laugh.

The team had taken up positions within Penn Station, with Dani wearing a fire engine red crew cut top. The canvas of the churches had been successful when they’d reached St Columba church. The priest’s stress reactions were off the charts, and with a bit of prodding from Dani and Malcolm they had managed to extract a height and build from the nervous man. 

Edrisa had reported the contents of the latest victim’s wallet included a waterlogged ticket for Penn Station, and JT’s quick trace work confirmed Karen Walker had also transited through the hub station.

They’d decided that bait was going to be the best way to lure their killer out in to the open. A quick trip to Macy’s on the way and Dani was role playing as a backpacker in the big smoke. Malcolm and JT were in the station as well, and Gil was outside ready to coordinate support when the action moved outside.

There’s no sign of anyone resembling their suspect for the next twenty minutes, until JT spots a solid man leaning against a pillar, his Maryland University cap panning slowly around the concourse.

“Guys, I think I might have something. White male, Maryland U cap, grey zipper and jeans. No bags with him and I haven’t seen him look at any departure boards in the last five minutes.”

Gil responds quickly. “Okay JT, keep eyes on him and Malcolm you get to JT’s position in case we need to follow in a hurry.”

Malcolm works his way through the early afternoon crowd until he finds JT. He needed to come up with a way to lure the killer out of the station. Then it hit him. He turns away from the suspect to activate his comm.

“Dani, you need to walk up to someone who is within ear shot of the suspect and ask for help finding Pier 62. If it’s our killer he won’t be able to resist you dressed in red heading towards his killing grounds.”

“Got it, gimme a sec to look convincing.” There’s a rustling in the background as Dani grabs her backpack and makes a show of looking on a map for something. A minute later and she’s managed to flag down an MTA worker to ask for directions. Malcolm watches as their suspect shifts his casual stance to one of alert attention. Dani’s act has worked.

“Okay everyone, he’s definitely listening to Dani’s conversation. This could be our killer.”

Dani finishes up with the MTA worker and roots around in her backpack for something so she can ask what the plan is next.

Malcolm interjects before anyone can say anything else “Leave the station and head in the direction of Pier 62. He’ll follow you, I know. It.”

“Hang on” Gil interjects “The street isn’t a controlled environment, what it the suspect tries something?”

“I’m pretty sure Detective Powell can handle herself until we get there, am I right?” Malcolm replies.

“It’s fine boss, I can do this.” Dani makes the decision for them as she casually walks towards a western exit of the train station. Their suspect follows Dani towards the exit and JT trawls through his memory trying to figure out an arrest point.

“When you leave turn left and stop in front of the third alley you see. Our guy should slow up to let us get close enough.”

Gil chimes in “I’ll have backup on standby, just say the word.”

The procession makes its way down Eighth Avenue until Dani interrupts the tense silence.

“Guys, I’m gonna pull into the car park in front of Milano on West 29th. Are you close?”

“Give us a sec Detective Powell, we’re about eighty feet behind our suspect. Maybe slow down a bit just in case.”

“Okay Bright, double checking my map now.” Dani replied. Malcolm wondered if this was how easy it was supposed to be, working in a team. There’s nobody arguing with him, nobody making jokes at his expense. But it won’t mean anything if he doesn’t hustle in time to help the detective. JT and Malcolm are practically skipping towards Dani’s location, and luckily the usual pedestrians provide them with enough cover to hide their movements from their suspect. They’ve closed the gap to about twenty feet when the tall man turns down the parking lot entrance.

JT and Malcolm round the corner to find Dani in an offensive stance with her backpack on the floor, bouncing slightly as their suspect is frozen in place, clearly surprised by Dani’s actions.

“NYPD, don’t move!” shouts JT.

The capped man spins around to the source of the shouting, eyes bugging in panic. They flit from side to side, looking for an exit. Malcolm needs to calm him down now.

“Hi there, my name’s Malcolm. What’s yours?” Keep him talking Malcolm thinks, nice and soft.

“What are you-“ JT starts to ask, but Malcolm shoots him a look that he hopes says to trust him. He thinks it over for a second before giving Malcolm a short nod.

It looks like he’s decided to. Relieved, Malcolm turns back to the suspect.

“Sorry about that. What’s your name?”

The suspect’s brown eyes are still moving at a rapid pace, but his body language is no longer telegraphing flight response signals. “Brad” is all Malcolm gets in reply. Malcolm’s seen enough to guess this is their killer so he goes with a hunch.

“Hi, Brad. I work with the NYPD, and I’d like to talk to you about your work you do in God’s name. Would you like to talk about that?” 

“My work?” Brad looks confused.

“Yeah Brad, your work. We’ve found some of the martyrs that chose themselves for your mission, and we’d like to find out a bit more. Can you come with us to the station, so we can have a chat?”

Brad weighs his options up for a moment while JT and Dani remain prepared for any physical altercations. It isn’t necessary as Brad puts his hands up and mumbles “Okay”.

Malcolm breathes a sigh of relief.

‘Great, that’s great Brad. My friend JT’s just gonna come over and put some cuffs on, okay?” Malcolm nods to JT who makes his way over to their suspect. Despite his tall stature his current demeanour makes him seem much smaller, and within seconds the man is safely in custody.

The team read him his rights and check his pockets. In Brad’s jacket pocket they find a beaded rosary and a cream plastic disc, the same type they had found on Jackson Dennings.

They’d caught their man.

******************

After several hours of interviews and paperwork the time comes for Malcolm to leave the 16th Precinct. A tiny part of himself is sad at the realisation. Though they only worked together for a day, Malcolm had felt more valued as a member of a team than any time in his entire FBI career.

Gil claps Malcolm on the shoulder as he’s collecting his satchel in the conference room, preparing to leave. “Are you sure we can’t convince you to stay, city boy?”

Malcolm is surprised. “What, you would have me back?”

Gil smiles warmly “I’d have you back in a heartbeat, kid. The FBI don’t know what they have. Come and be an NYPD profiler with me.”

Malcolm returns a small smile. “Thanks Gil, but I don’t know if you’re team would want to make this permanent.”

“How do you know what we want?” JT asks as he stands by the doorway. “I mean sure, you’re a little weird, but you did get the bad guy so you can’t be all bad.”

“Well Jerome Trevor, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

JT chuckles. “Not even close, man. And you’re welcome, you do good work. I hope those jerks you work with can see that.”

“I hope they will too. Thanks Detective Tarmel.” Malcolm holds out a hand, and JT shakes it firmly.

“Seeya guys.” Malcolm doesn’t look back.

************************

It’s 10pm by the time Malcolm shuts the door on his loft. He feels bone tired, but it’s a satisfying tired as they had caught their killer. In all the excitement of the case Malcolm hadn’t checked his emails in a couple of days, and figured he could wind down by checking in. Pouring himself a drink he pulls up the FBI’s encrypted webmail server to check what he’s missed out on. About two thirds of the way down the subject line of an email jumps out at him.

**Incident in New York Office- Inappropriate Conduct Complaint**

Gil must have gone back on his word and spoken to his bosses. He opens the message through squinted eyes, dreading to discover how much Gil had admitted to the higher ups. What he sees instead causes his jaw to hit the floor.

………… _Agent Bright’s unprofessional conduct……………….._

_………..dismissive towards the New York office agents……………_

_………..corroborating statements from Agents Perez and Tully……….._

_………..opening a HR enquiry into your conduct…………_

Malcolm couldn’t believe it. The taskforce had lodged false reports about him, and _he_ was going to be the one investigated.

How is this possible? Who will believe him?

Is the job even worth it for this?

Right now he thinks not. Malcolm types a reply that he is requesting some personal days for the next week to see family and shuts down his laptop.

He’s calling in to see Gil tomorrow. A change may be blowing in the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this little prompt adventure. Thanks to Lennie09 for the amazing idea, I hope you've enjoyed the ride.
> 
> If you would like to hang out with some awesome writers and artists please join me on the [Prodigal Whump](https://discord.gg/GXteMGT) and [PSon Trash](https://discord.gg/p3K3twh) (18+) servers on Discord!

**Author's Note:**

> This story isn't beta'd any mistakes are my own.


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